


Drought, Flood, Rain

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: Pilgrim's Crown [4]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 11:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14831396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: He lets her take what she wants – it will be very little because she does not even dare to dream of more. The only thing she is not afraid of is giving – she gives him her breath and her fire and her strength, tries to pour her love into him as if it was water.It would be a welcome feeling, to drown. For a heartbeat, Thaos almost wishes he still could.(A brief scene from the Inquisition times.)





	Drought, Flood, Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/gifts).



> (A prompt from the kiss writing promp set; thrown at me by Fili: "Thaos/Watcher + 36. to give up control".)

As usually, she is waiting in his chambers; there is dinner on the table – just a little, she know he does not eat much when he is tired – and a steaming brass teapot set over a small low candle so that the brew would not get cold. This evening, Thaos would prefer wine. Perhaps even something stronger.

Which is all the more reason never to give in to this temptation, he is well aware of that. He never has. But it is a temptation still – to dull the senses, the memory. Woedica would eventually forgive him.

“Thaos?” The girl is staring at him, concern written over her features. She is stressed out, hurt by carrying the weight of her own broken soul. And still she can find some comfort in trying to help him, however futile her attempts.

Eothasians, Thaos thinks, but without disdain this time. It is difficult to find that in him when her bright eyes are searching his face; he can be ruthless, but he has never been needlessly cruel.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, more a sigh than actual words. “It’s been a long day.” He has talked to Iovara’s soul once more, tried to convince her to confess, but she would not be persuaded; the Inquisition caught another group of heretics which he had to deal with; he was called by his Queen to give answers and maybe he will have to speak to the gods again; and there were all the everyday matters like the morning and evening prayers, spiritual counsel and diplomatic issues. He cannot mention at least half of those things, for various reasons.

But she knows. She is gifted with strong soul magic, and even though she never asks about certain things – on purpose, because she would rather not hear what he must do, even if she guesses – but deep down in the darkest corner of her mind, she knows.

She reaches out, and her heart goes to him – heart, soul, all she has  - it is plain as day to see. Thaos looks at her face, her eyes - both sad and hopeful – and he thinks, not for the first time, that maybe she _can_ help. That maybe he can wrap the warmth of her soul around his and forget, find peace just for an instant.

He meets her halfway, cradles her head, burying his fingers in the fiery red hair, and kisses her – softly, opens his mouth to her kiss, lets her take what she wants – it will be very little because she does not even dare to dream of more. The only thing she is not afraid of is giving – she gives him her breath and her fire and her strength, tries to pour her love into him as if it was water.

It would be a welcome feeling, to drown. For a heartbeat, Thaos almost wishes he still could.

She touches his face, looks into his eyes. It is only a while but it seems like ages – she is using her gift. Not to read his mind – she is not powerful enough to do that, no one save for the gods is – just to gauge how tired he is. And then she wraps her arms around his waist and embraces him tightly, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. A wordless way of telling him that she will support him should he want it – need it.

Thaos holds her and strokes her hair slowly – a mechanical motion that still soothes him somewhat. He leans into the familiar scent of pilgrim’s crown.

“Shouldn’t I make up for all those evenings you sit here alone waiting for me?” he murmurs into her ear.

“You need rest,” she protest quietly.

“Yes.” He needs to forget, to fill his mind with something else, if only for a while. Just one blink of an eye, nothing more.

She pulls away, fingers gently brushing across his robe and then curling against his chest hesitantly. “Let me hold you?” she asks quietly.

“Isn’t that what you were doing?” he replies, but she is not fooled by this attempt to brush her question aside.

She never is, but usually she takes the cue and gives up, understanding he does not wish either of them to speak of it. But today she is too worried. Her gaze follows the last remaining dark threads in his hair and her fingers twitch, but she does not dare to do anything he may not want.

“Let me...” She grasps his hands, imploring. “Let me help.”

It is not a permanent solution, but yes, she can help. That is what made him notice her, that is why he chose her to be his lover. That is really all he wants this evening – a moment when he would not have to think.

Thaos moves his palms and interlaces their fingers and kisses her as she has never dreamt he would. Softly, softly; heat but no insistence; something almost as burning and pliant as her devotion. From anyone else, it would be a promise. From him, it is... a proof of trust, perhaps.

It is not really trust when he has seen her soul and simply knows she would never betray him. But because of that, he can go a step further, can let her see his exhaustion. He can let her see weakness because she would never think of it that way; she will mistake it for attachment. It is not even quite a lie – he does like her, in a way. After all, who does not like respite?

Deòiridh slowly opens her eyes, looks at him – as deep into his thoughts as he lets her – looks at him as if she knew and understood. She thinks she does. It is better this way. Better for her to still have beliefs and hopes to cling to. Is that not why he does it all, for souls like her?

She takes his hand in both of hers, lifts it and presses her lips to the back of his palm, eyes never leaving his. Then she gently pulls onto his hand and leads him to the bed.

He falls asleep with her warm body pressed against his back and her even breaths against his ear, and sleeps through the night without waking and without dreams.


End file.
